


Tick

by Uncertain Anonymous (bumbleberrypie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Cross-Generation Relationship, Cross-Generational Friendship, F/M, Gen, Hero Worship, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumbleberrypie/pseuds/Uncertain%20Anonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armed with nothing and lacking lucid memory, Hermione Granger finds herself surrounded by unknown peers while she learns about magic and herself. Dodging Marauders and bullies alike, following Lily Evans's footsteps, and searching for a past that actually lies in the future quickly become the norm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nowhere in my name resides a J.
> 
> This story is part of my response to a grave lack of time travel fics in which Hermione is not the same age as whatever character she ends up being paired with; in other words, she's always conveniently the same age as her romantic interest/plot-important characters via time turner. This is one of two stories I am writing to address this lack and show that even though time travel is at our disposal, fate isn't always convenient.
> 
> Originally posted on Fanfiction in March, but revised for AO3 in April.

_CHAPTER THE PROLOGUE_

It was odd, she thought, that her time-turner hadn’t been taken away quite yet. It hadn’t been a full day since the whole Sirius Black fiasco and Ron was still in the infirmary, yes, but it seemed that Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore would have taken it from her to hide any possible evidence of a Hogwarts student being involved with his escape. Here she was, free already to walk around the grounds so long as she could avoid whatever dementors still lingered. And the professors. (Okay, so maybe she wasn’t quite as free as she thought, but she didn’t want the turner to leave her hands, if even to go into a more responsible pair’s grip.)

And so she walked. She walked by Hagrid’s home while pondering about Professor Lupin’s fate. She passed the Whomping Willow as she pondered what could have been hers and Harry’s because of his lycanthrope. She wandered around the greenhouses as she hoped Mr. Black and Buckbeak made it away safely. She went across the vegetable patch as she feared over Ron’s rat - Peter Pettigrew, the traitor, the murderer, the evil one who got away. She started walking along the Lake as she thought about Harry’s happiness and how unlikely it was he’d get away from those damned Dursleys any time soon.

She had almost made her way to the wall that blocked the second half of the Great Lake’s edges, thinking again about Sirius Black - the innocent Mr. Black, not the evil, devious man she’d thought him to be. The innocent Mr. Black who she’d saved, that is. Well, she and Harry, and a bit of Dumbledore, too - the sly old man that he was, giving her the chance to do something drastic and dangerous. Not that she regretted it, oh no. She could never regret doing something that put such a happy expression on Harry’s face.

She glanced around and saw the tall, robed figure of one of her Professors - too far away to pinpoint which one, but the robe wasn’t that of the uniform so it must have been a teacher. She turned away from the teacher, suddenly struck with a panic she couldn’t identify, and quickly paced away. _I hope the Professor didn’t see me_ , she thought desperately as her heart raced and her steps hurried frantically as they could without running.

And then she tripped and fell and there was a crash and a shatter and a bang and she was tumbling on the ground and flying in the sky and splashing in the water and a tentacle was around her and then there was pain and it all went black.

Including her memory.


	2. Darkness and the Alphabet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mind is a curious place. Even more so when it's empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update, really! I've re-done this chapter maybe all of seven times from scratch or from previous drafts and I'm finally feeling vaguely okay with it. I am really sorry.
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Darkness and the Alphabet (Ch 1)**

There is only darkness and the alphabet here, where the girl is. And she knows she's a girl because it's spelled out in front of her with the bright white letters that are floating around her. She can read it - and she knows that it's called reading because that's spelled out in front of her too - and she can understand it, but it only came into understanding once the word appeared in front of her, just like the dozens of other brilliant, white words swirling about her - her alphabet.

Where the girl is, it's doesn't feel like she's supposed to be there, as much as it feels like this place is hers and only hers and isn't meant for anybody else. So, she tries to leave it, struggles to leave it, wonders how on earth she is supposed to leave it.

But suddenly, she's left it.

And oh, does it  _hurt_ to have left it.

Her head is, it's -  _throbbing,_ is the word - and her body is cold, so cold, and she suddenly wants to go back, but she feels a little more like she belongs here than there, and so she opens her eyes and sees white.

White, white everywhere.

And as her eyes stare up at the ceiling, she hears something, no, some _one._  "Are you alright?"

She doesn't know, and she wants to, to  _convey_ that, but she isn't sure quite how.

"Can you look over here? Can you hear me?"

Ah, _look_. That word comes with many connotations, and suddenly the girl remembers or learns or something, but she knows it now. Her eyes move from their fixed position and look for the someone who reminded or taught or _whatever_ , made her know how to look.

It's a lady in a uniform, she knows it's a lady and she knows that's a uniform. The lady is pretty and worried, with - those are _creases_ , yes? no? - on her forehead and a small mouth. No, not small, pursed. Yes, pursed. And her uniform is white, too, and - medical, somehow. Medical? Is that right? Oh, her head is positively _pounding_ now.

"Oh, good. Not all is lost. Now, are you alright? Can you... Can you remember why you're here?"

Remembering things at all is... is there a word for very difficult? The girl thinks there is, but it's just as difficult to find more words than what she already has, what with the pain in the back of her head. It  _hurts. Aches._ It's... it's too much.

"Oh, that's not good. How about we start with the basics, then. Who are you?"

And the pain increases, and increases, and then her eyes close once more and the white fades to darkness and her alphabet returns to surround her, having significantly grown in number. First and foremost in front of her, swirling in bold and italics is that question.

_**Who are you?** _

And the alphabet around her tries to surround those words and make them go away. Her alphabet tries to replace it, to soothe her, to make her feel -  _whole_ , perhaps. But it only tries. It does not succeed. Still, words swirl in front of her and around the question.

_Who are you? girl brunette alive bright hurt bushy hair clever tired witch muggle human_

Finally, a word comes to the forefront that is so vile, so painful, so disgusting, that it replaces the question instantly, and the alphabet can't make it go away.

_Mudblood_

But none of that answers who I am, the girl knows, as she tries to distance herself from that nasty, nasty word. It's only what I am, and I can't be... that vile thing, can I?

But those eight letters begin to expand and start to wrap around her and she decides in an instant that she'd rather have the pain than that word, and so she's off and heading out of the darkness and into the painful world of white.

She is greeted by a throbbing, but not pounding, head and two distant voices.

"I think she was awake five hours ago."

"You think? You aren't sure?"

"Well, all she did was open her eyes and look at me."

"That was it?"

"There was a bit of a wait between the two, of course, and I did ask her how she got here and who she is. She stared at me blankly after the first one, and her eyes rolled back into her head after the final, so I'm not sure if it was a fluke or not that she looked over at me after I asked her to."

Ah, they must be talking about her, then.

Her eyes swiveled around, trying to find the two voices, but they weren't in her - er - line of sight?

"I understand. Perhaps we should try to - oh! Her eyes are open and moving! Poppy -"

And then there was a lot of sound - footsteps - and then two ladies were in her sight. One she knew from her last... visit to this world. The other looked somewhat older, with a few light creases on the face around the eyes. The second was a bit larger, and she wasn't wearing the same white uniform, but a dark cloak covered in dirt - as was her face, and some of her hair. Both looked at the girl in concern.

"Are you alright?" asked the first once more, but it remained unanswered because the girl didn't know how to respond.

"Can you speak?" asked the other after a brief pause.

The girl blinked, surprised, as that last word unlocked another ability, like "look" had.

"I," her throat forced out, a little breathless and a little rough around the edges. "I _can_ speak."

"She sounded shocked," mumbled the second one.

"Are you alright?" repeated the first.

"May-be?" Her voice cracked between the syllables, but she made it through with an inquiring tone.

The white-wearing woman pursed her lips again and hummed a bit.

"Well, I'm Professor Pomona Sprout, and this is Madam Poppy Pomfrey. Madam Pomfrey is going to help you so that you'll be alright, not just maybe." After she said that, she gave a firm, determined nod. The girl mimicked the motion.

"Do you hurt anywhere?" asked the Madam Pomfrey, having thought of a new way to phrase her intended query.

"My head," the girl responded. "My he-ad hurts a lot." Her voice cracked once more on the word "head", but she forced her way through a full sentence.

"I can help with that," Madam Pomfrey said with a smile. "Let me go get a potion; I'll be right back."

And just like that, the word potion pushed a strange feeling into the girl along with the usual understanding, that it was a liquid, often vile, that was _magic_. That feeling, however, it was awful. The feeling... like she wasn't good enough, or not perfect enough. Like she was disliked, strongly, and it hurt. Tears bloomed in her eyes, but she wasn't sure quite why.

"Oh, it's alright. The potion will take all that pain away." The woman left in a hurry, thinking the tears were due to the pain.

"Can you sit up? I can help you, if you need it," said the Professor. "It'll help you to swallow the potion."

Hermione felt her arms struggling to move of their own volition, setting her hands on the top of the - it was a bed, she was lying in a bed - and pushed. Her torso began to lift, and the Professor helped push the pillows up, then pulled her the rest of the way until the girl was sitting upright in the bed.

"There we go, dear."

Shortly after, Madam Pomfrey returned with a vial in hand filled with an odd gray-blue liquid. "Drink up," she said as she put the vial in one of the girl's hands. The girl obeyed the order and was amazed at how quickly the pain in her head faded away.

"Is that better?"

"Yes! It's all go-one." She could only wish that the cracks in her voice would go away, too.

"Now that you're up and talking, I'll repeat my questions from earlier," stated Madam Pomfrey. "Who are you?"

The girl flinched and quietly said aloud the word that overcame the question in her dark place.

The two women gasped, and then Professor Sprout scoffed. "You are not! That is an ugly, despicable word that should never be used to describe a soul. Oh, if I could - " The Professor stopped and took a breath before she continued. "That is by no means your name, dear. Do you know your name, perhaps?"

And instantly a name came pouring out of her mouth. "Hermione." It wasn't a name that she'd known she had, and it felt a little wrong, like she couldn't be Hermione, like Hermione had to be more. But it fit her, and she new no other name would ever be hers like this name felt it could be, eventually.

"Ah, that's good," said the Madam. "Hermione - a pretty name."

"Greek," Hermione interjected, happily, as words came together to form facts in her head and she was so excited to share. "She was the daugh-ter of Helen of Troy. And, in Shake-speare, she is a Queen accused of cheating, but she did-n't!"

The two women blinked at the sudden rush of words, cracks and all. Pomona smiled, then asked, "What about your surname - what is that?"

And there, Hermione drew a blank. Sort of. "Danger?"

The two women blinked. "Why on earth would your surname be Danger?" Madam Pomfrey asked, faintly.

Hermione furrowed her brow, trying to come up with the answer, where it wasn't coming nearly as easily as everything else. "Stranger? Manger?" Her headache was starting to come back, and Hermione's eye began to tear out of frustration. "Ranger?"

Sensing her frustration, Madam Pomfrey stopped her. "I suppose Ranger will do for now, Miss Hermione. If you remember it, though, let us know."

"Yes."

"Now, what about how you got here. Any idea?"

Hermione closed her eyes in concentration for a bit, then opened them sadly. "No?"

"You fell in the Great Lake near front of the vegetable patch and greenhouses," the Professor told her softly. "Some of the female students were sitting at the edge tossing toast to the Giant Squid when they saw you fall in. Apparently, you appeared with a crack many meters above the Squid and just dropped. It freaked the Squid out and he grabbed you and pulled you underwater. The girls screamed and got me to get you out. By the time I got there, though, the Squid had already lifted you out of the water, but you weren't breathing."

Hermione blinked and tried to digest the news.

"Does any of that ring a bell, dear?" Professor Sprout asked gently.

"No, it... it's very..." Hermione huffed in frustration. "There's nothing there."

"Well, don't let it worry you too much," Madam Pomfrey said sternly. "It may all come back to you, given some time."

"What if it doesn't?" Hermione asked carefully.

Pomfrey frowned, but continued. "Don't worry about that for now. Pomona, go get the Headmaster, please? He'll be wanting to speak with her."

Sprout nodded her head, smiled at Hermione, then turned to walk out the door.

Hermione stared after the professor as she walked away. Madam Pomfrey felt the need to distract her from unpleasant thoughts and hopefully help some of the poor girl's memories come back. "How much do you know about Hogwarts?"

"...School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," finished Hermione without immediately noticing she did. "Um... I don't - ?"

"Professor Sprout is Head of House for Hufflepuff. You know what Hufflepuff is?"

"Loyalty," Hermione said, amazed by the information once again coming to life within her. "From Helga Hufflepuff."

"Right. Now how about the other Houses, do you know any of them?"

"Umm..."

"There's Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, and Slytherin. What do you know about those?"

And so the questions continued as Pomona Sprout made her way to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did end up putting quite a bit of research into this chapter over the months I spent leaving and then coming back to it. Hermione's two namesakes were one thing, but I spent way too much time researching the UK in the 1970s. I spent much time figuring out which professors were canonically teaching Hogwarts at the time, their ages - Minerva McGonagall (40, having taught for 19 years in 1975 as of December), Pomona Sprout (34 or 44, having taught for 20 years), Horace Slughorn (between 54 and 94, having taught for 50-55 years - which contradicts his lower birthday level), Silvanus Kettleburn (who knows, having taught since before Dumbledore was headmaster; by this point, he has mellowed and has only one arm and half a leg), Filius Flitwick (who knows, having taught for a while - it was really vague), Albus Dumbledore (94, having been headmaster for approx. 19 years), with Poppy Pomfrey there, having escorted Remus to and from the Shack from his first year.
> 
> You may notice that Professor Sprout says "meters" at one point. I did check, and the UK converted to metric in 1965, so I assume that the Wizarding World did so within the next few years or even before, to appeal to the changing countries around them. Another strange thing I researched.
> 
> Once again, sorry for the wait, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


End file.
